After the Dance

After the dance is done
she lingers, casually flitting
her feet defy the convention
that home is now the place to be

They, those that made the music
pack up lightly talking amongst themselves
scarcely noticing the waif waiting just beyond
their reach - it is because she allows them room

busy packing, making and taking inventory, does it all fit
She does not notice their wives - waiting, drinking, smoking without smoke
unlit cigarettes twirling - she does not care
It is not them she is in love with - it is the magic they bring
with instruments and voice - the movement of her being
the energy of flow, floating up and down and around
Rhythm, just rhythm - no blues - blues got left standing by the wall

She does not know it - she does not care
she is seduced by the spell that was here tonight
special magic made by men, machines and angels
there had to be angels for sound so rare
Her feet are dancing, even as the floor becomes bare
Solo, she is the last one there

The Raven's Shadow

A feather of Darkness decorates her hair
if you are fortunate to see this woman
With hood down. Eyes are
hidden, yet you feel their pull.
She stands at the crossroads
in the darkness of your soul -
her voice chills - she is afraid of nothing.

Are you serious ? Is her challenge
She is the mistress of magic
Her forte is melting away
your illusions, your hubris and your ego.
Her familiar, the bird of shadow,
laughs at your approach, yet you continue forward. She stands at the crosswards
of your soul in darkness, the deep black you dare not look at.
You do not back down - you are not daunted.
'Choose' she cries in raven screech - Magic is your reply
Her eyes open wide, round beady white, then larger and cloudy
till finally perfectly round and perfectly clear
you gaze upon yourself as the raven sees you

I have heard tales of those who ran only to be haunted the rest of their life
I have heard tales of those who became clouded in the head
I am not one of them - I stand tall - there is nothing here I have not seen before
No I am bold - I reach out with both hands, her shoulders gather them
and bind them around her - pulling me close
A wind wails round us and the raven flies upward
off her shoulder and onto my head, the wind screams
as she melts into my arms - our hug has morphed into merger
We are one - I see with her eyes - I cease to be
and then there is darkness, total darkness nothing upon nothing
a silence of ebony, jet, midnight, moonless midnight
I am total magic, there is no bone, blood, or sinew
I understand, knowledge flows silent through me, I understand
I am being crushed, destroyed in essence, I can feel myself ebbing away
There is more here than my mortal frame can stand
death by knowledge - I am done - I  hear a female laugh
she lets go of me and I collapse - I have no body - I am gone
Tis then the raven lands upon my shoulder
tis then I feel her kiss upon my lips
the breath of life returns to my mortal frame
Well done - she sighs - come back again.

The dream is ended, yet I feel it still
the Magic is in my bones
I ache arthritic with it
Memories I have yet to experience
Jump into my path like cats of black
I know she waits deep inside
I feel her calling me back.
In the distance, Raven cries its treetop caw.

Random Rides (killing time and magic)

Random Rides                        ©by Frank Coughlin april 2011

Winter wings, things that cover

A long ride to nowhere and back

Periods of black, just a tunnel or two

Lavender dust spread out in the field

as far as you want it to be, or not to be

She never said "It will be easy."

You only thought you heard it.

The mind plays tricks on long boring rides

Signs of mystery dot the road

like 'Eat at Joe's' - I think 'and then what'

Cold collects on the glass, part you

from your impatient breath, part wind

blasting at seventy miles per, at least

farm houses wave their foolishness

right in front of your blurring eyes

Six hours, she said, seems like more

Is there candy? no, not till we get there

Does she live in the woods and 

is her house made out of gingerbread?

No, we are too old to believe that.

And somewhere, in the back seat maybe

Billy  pulls out a time machine, set for future

Twenty years flash forward, another car

another time, same us - 'cept we're not the same

too many miles, too many boring miles are to blame.